That Time of the Month

by

Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Horror, Paranormal, Were animal, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Horror Sex Story: Everyone has their own rhythms.

Everyone has their own rhythms.

She reeked of it. Heat, musk. Definitely ovulating. Nonsmoker. Cute, brunette, no ring. I made quick eye contact, then stalked on past, coming back to my seat at the end of the bar before long.

She glanced my way once. Good. I had to figure a way to cut her away from her herd.

I lurked in wait. If I read the signs right, any minute now, she'd ... yes, there she went. Chugged the remains of her drink, headed for the bathroom. I'd smelled the fruit and sugar as I'd passed, so I ordered another margarita for her and got prepped for my approach.

Time to make space. I tapped the shoulder of the guy next to me, who was also scoping the women on offer, as well as drinking heavily. Probably a regular, but I wouldn't know; I couldn't afford to hit the same place too often. Might be recognized. "Would you mind moving over a seat? I'm meeting someone soon."

He didn't even look at me. "Nope. You move."

Most times, I wouldn't have bothered. But tonight, I was in no mood. "I won't ask again," I said, low and firm.

He focused more carefully upon me. I could watch it happen, smell it happen. The recognition of a superior rival. Evolution didn't favor getting in pointless fights. His face fell and I caught a sweet whiff of sour fear. If he'd a tail it would've been between his legs.

"Hey, man, s'cool, no harm done, right? I'm sorry, 'kay?" I just stared in his eyes, bristling. He slunk off, all the way to the other end of the bar. I settled myself down.

Just in time. My prey came out of the ladies room and I caught her eye. Not that it was hard to catch; she was intrigued. I put on my most sincere, earnest expression and gestured to the margarita at the empty seat beside me. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She looked me over, taking in the expensive suit, my unadorned ring finger, my direct, confident gaze. She spared a glance at her crew, then sat down in the offered space. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to get back to my friends in a bit."

Making sure her line of retreat was open. I smiled my best charming smile, and said, "Worth it to have the pleasure of your company for a few minutes."

She smiled back. "Not very ambitious, then, are you?" Ah, the flirting had begun. I loved the chase.

"Oh, my sights are set somewhat higher than that." A tip of my whiskey. "I'm Marcus, by the way."

"Bianca," she volunteered, sipping.

She was a salesgirl, but naturally - she being pretty and this being Manhattan - was trying to be a model. And, of course, I told her she was certain to be a success. A few minutes more verbal teasing, and then we got out on the dance floor. It felt good to move, let off some steam. Grace and speed and stamina were hardly a problem. Not tonight.

I took a few risks as we danced, getting rather frisky with my hands and pelvis. But the way she responded confirmed my impressions. She was horny, and she wanted a wild man. She probably didn't even know why she found me so attractive. The pheromones didn't register with other people the way they did with me. I could smell who would have chemistry and who wouldn't.

Bad luck for her that her hormones were peaking when I came around. At least I'd try to help her get lucky first.

I cut the dancing a little short; I was on a deadline, after all. When I proposed changing the venue to my place, she hesitated. But I was on my best behavior, so she gave up caution and decided with her gut. Or if not her gut, at least something roughly waist level. She breezily introduced me to her friends, said her goodbyes, and we left the bar together. Outside, I hailed a taxi and checked my watch. It'd be a little tight, but there was time.

Her eyebrows went up when I gave the driver a tony Upper East Side address. We bantered a little on the way.

"My apartment's way out in the Bronx and it still costs a fortune. What do you do, anyway?"

Never hurt to impress the females with your resources. "I own several buildings in the city, actually. My family's been here almost since New York was founded." Plenty of time to establish safe territories. "Landlord's a decent gig. Good income, flexible hours." I refrained from adding the other perks. No boss to notice regularities in my time off. Space to make soundproof rooms to muffle screams and growls, even in a crowded city. Arrangements to discreetly handle gnawed remains...

"You're a landlord? I may have to hate you on principle." But she was smiling as she said it.

"Hey! Most of us aren't bloodsucking monsters, I'll have you know." That was true; only a handful of vampires went into real estate. She didn't notice how carefully I'd phrased my reply.

Soon we arrived. We got out of the taxi - I offered her my hand like a gentleman - and I led her into the foyer of the building. I called the elevator and kept silent as we waited. Sure, it was slightly awkward, but a little social tension could translate into erotic tension, if handled correctly...

The doors slid open, and we stepped into the elevator. I used my key and selected the fifth floor.

She noticed the nametags by the buttons. "What, all the floors are yours?"

"That's right. The other buildings I rent out, but this is my family home."

"So, we've got the whole place to ourselves?"

"Looks that way." Another precisely-phrased reply. My conscience gave me less trouble if I didn't actively lie - though I'd do it if I had to.

The bell chimed and the door opened. She didn't gasp. Some of them did. It was an impressive space, that screamed - tastefully - expensive elegance. Luxurious rugs on hardwood floors, antique furnishings heavy on the oak and marble, a few paintings and sculptures. I led her into the den and offered her a drink.

She prowled, exploring, as I poured. "Ooh, that's sick! How old is it?" she exclaimed, admiring the large antique telescope next to the French doors leading to the balcony.

"Over two hundred years." I came up behind her, close, rubbing against her back as I guided her hand to the focusing knob. She bent to the sight, pushing back into me a little. "It's been in my family for generations."

Before the Internet, my kind had needed ephemerides and astronomical competence, or the money for a reliable almanac. Minutes counted sometimes when arranging social obligations around rises and sets.

"Like to spy on your neighbors?" she teased.

I sniffed. "Don't force me to make a bad pun about heavenly bodies." She giggled a little, then stood up to take her drink.

I won't bore you with the minutiae of our conversation. Suffice it to say, not ten minutes later we were stumbling into the bedroom, all over each other.

She fell back on the bed and I hiked up her skirt. She helped me pull her panties down and away. The musk that'd been teasing me all this time was intense now.

I got in there, sniffing and licking. Every woman had her own scent, unique as snowflakes, as faces. Hers was ... piquant. My tongue was longer than average, especially now, so in no time she was moaning happily. "Oh ... oh God ... Oh, fuck, you animal..."

My tongue probed everywhere, unleashed, fierce. I snuffled and huffed, covering my face in her juices. She screamed, long and high, and bucked like a bronco.

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